


Hear Your Heart Sing (Love, Love, Love)

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [125]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Fluff, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Arthur Pendragon, Oblivious Merlin, Office Romance, Pining, Romantic Fluff, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-05-10 11:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14736114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: Merlin used to like the idea of finding The One – until he fell in love with Arthur Pendragon. Now he has a boss he can't date (but can't stop thinking about), a soulmate he can't find (who has terrible taste in music), and a best friend who can't believe he still hasn't got his act together (even though it's seriously not his fault).Sometimes, life is unfairly complicated, even without your soulmate singing painfully catchy tunes in the back of your head.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arthur_pendragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthur_pendragon/gifts).



> With thanks to Fifty_Fifty for betaing, Brit-picking and general encouragement <3
> 
> For those who would like to listen along, [I've also made a story playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/schweet_heart/playlist/31liiH0oIw54T1pq33fgLX?si=JjtAhdomR2-3o2SLT3mdIQ). Be warned, these songs are pretty damn catchy. Your soulmate might be singing them right now ;)

 

By the fifth repetition of _Call Me Maybe_ , Merlin has had enough.

 

“What sort of idiot likes that song, anyway?” he grumbles to Gwen, who doesn’t even have the decency to cover her smile as she giggles into her cup of coffee. “Couldn’t I at least have a soulmate with good taste in music? Is that too much to ask?”

 

“Merlin,” Gwen says, mock frowning at him over the frothy surface of her drink. “ _I_ like that song. And so do a lot of people. It’s not that uncommon.”

 

Merlin sticks his tongue out at her. “Further proof that you are a horrible, evil person,” he says. “I don’t know why I’m still friends with you.”

 

“Probably because I’m the only one who enables your caffeine addiction,” Gwen says, unfazed. “Anyway, maybe your soulmate doesn’t really like the song either. Maybe they’re trying to give you a hint. You know—call him, maybe?” She holds her hand to her ear in imitation of a telephone.

 

“That would be great,” Merlin says. “Except that I can’t call him, can I, because I have no way of knowing who he is.”

 

“Unless it’s someone you already know.” Gwen raises her eyebrows and takes a sip of her macchiato. “Have you considered that?”

 

Merlin just sighs in response. He’s pretty sure he’s considered everyone, up to and including random strangers on the street. Granted, given his abysmal taste in music Merlin isn’t sure he won’t strangle his soulmate as soon as he sets eyes on him, but at least then he’d have the chance to yell at him in person for that time he’d gotten _Never Gonna Give You Up_ stuck in Merlin’s head for a month. Being repeatedly rick-rolled by his own soulmate is not one of the high points of Merlin’s existence.

 

“Anyway, I’m willing to bet he pulls this shit just to torment me. My soulmate is clearly a sadistic bastard.”

 

Gwen snorts into her cup. “Then I’m sure the two of you will get along famously.”

 

They probably will, Merlin thinks morosely, stirring his own coffee with a quiet sigh. Which is actually kind of the problem.

 

Terrible taste in music aside, the thing Merlin hasn’t really told anyone is that he’s not sure he wants to meet his soulmate just yet. Merlin has been quietly pining for Arthur Pendragon for going on half a decade now, and he’s not really sure how that squares up with the whole soulmate thing. Is it possible to have two soulmates? Or to have a soulmate who is pathologically allergic to relationships of any kind? Or maybe the voices he’s been hearing aren’t because of his soulmate after all, and he’s actually going quietly insane. It would probably explain a lot of things, now that he thinks about it. And how fucked is his life when the best option he can possibly hope for is some kind of Arthur-induced mental breakdown?

 

Before he came to work at Pendragon & Son, Merlin had kind of liked the idea of finding The One. His parents had been soul-matched, and even though Merlin has very few memories of his father, he had always known how much his mother loved him. The day Balinor Emrys died had been the day that all the colour went out of her life, quite literally—Hunith and Balinor had been one of those sickeningly poignant couples whose vision was monochromatic until they met their soulmate, only to return to black and white again the moment their partner died. There were other ways to discover your One True Love, of course: matching birthmarks, first word tattoos, cryptic prophecies that might or might not make sense as soon as you met them. Monochromatism was the most common, but even that was relatively rare; most people had to stick with finding their sweetheart the old-fashioned way.

 

Merlin, of course, got stuck with Mr. Rick Roll, which was basically the story of his life. While other people might have interesting, romantic, or even just plain _useful_ types of soul-connection, he got really annoying songs that stuck in his head for however long his soulmate felt like listening to them. So far, the record is six weeks. He still can’t hear the opening notes of _Gangam Style_ without cringing.

 

Lately, though, things have been different. Merlin isn’t entirely sure when things changed, but for a few months now he’s started hearing the songs being sung in what he assumes must be his soulmate’s actual voice. He wants to believe the guy sounds like Arthur, but the sad fact is he has never actually heard Arthur sing, despite the fact that he’s known the man for years. Arthur Pendragon isn’t really the singing type, so far as Merlin can tell, and he’s far too quiet and serious to really belt out some of the show tunes Merlin sometimes hears in his head while he’s in the shower. Hell, Merlin isn’t even entirely certain whether Arthur is interested in men or dating at all, since he’s never mentioned having a significant other, and, as far as Merlin can tell, he never seems to have any social plans outside of work hours. Much as Merlin would love to be the one to break the dry spell for him, the fact remains that he has some guy singing in his head at random hours of the day, and it really wouldn’t be fair to start something with Arthur knowing that he’s meant to end up with someone else.

 

It doesn’t help that Merlin’s soulmate, whoever he is, has apparently clued in to the fact that Merlin can hear him singing, because he’s been deliberately bombarding him with super-catchy tunes all week, apparently in the hopes of driving him completely round the bend.

 

“I’m going to have to fight fire with fire,” Merlin tells Gwen, as they’re gathering up their things to leave the cafe. She looks concerned for a moment, then her face clears as he goes on. “I’m going to find something catchy and sing it until he can’t stand it anymore. It’s the only way to get him to stop messing with my head.”

 

“If you say so,” Gwen says dubiously. “Although I still think a better plan would be to try to figure out some way to communicate through songs. Kind of like secret messages, you know? Then the two of you can finally meet and start harassing each other in person, instead of just in your heads.”

 

The plan has merit, Merlin has to admit, but it’s also far too polite and reasonable for the guy who is currently singing _Call Me Maybe_ in the back of Merlin’s mind for the umpteenth time.

 

“I’m going to start with _Shake it Off_ ,” he says decidedly, ignoring Gwen’s suggestion entirely. “Firstly, because I think it sends the right message—he can torment me as much as he likes, but I’m not going to take it lying down—and secondly, because what is more annoying than Taylor Swift on repeat?”

 

Gwen shakes her head. “You’re a sick, sick man, Merlin Emrys,” she says, but Merlin thinks he can detect a hint of admiration somewhere in there too. Very deep down.

 

 

+

 

 

That is how it starts. Merlin would like it noted for the record that it was not his fault, and that his soulmate was the one who drove him to take such extreme measures, but in point of fact who started it quickly becomes irrelevant. In response to _Shake it Off_ , Merlin’s soulmate develops a particularly annoying fondness for _Uptown Funk_ , which Merlin takes as a declaration of intent and retaliates with _All Star_. His soulmate apparently finds that very funny, because the next song Merlin gets is _Tubthumping_ , and it’s weirdly like having a conversation, only without any actual words.

 

Merlin would find the whole thing kind of cool, except then his soulmate then responds to his _Macarena_ gambit with _Mambo No. 5_ , and Merlin is subsequently both horrified and impressed. Horrified, because that song is catchy as all hell and has always been guaranteed to annoy the shit out of him—which his soulmate has probably already guessed—and impressed because, well, that’s the sort of thing _he’d_ do. Maybe his soulmate isn’t altogether wrong for him after all.

 

He’s still humming to himself when he comes out of the lift on Monday evening and runs straight into none other than Arthur Pendragon, who fortunately manages to catch his arm before he falls flat on his arse.

 

“In a hurry, Merlin?” Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow at him. “You do realise that you were meant to leave the building half an hour ago, right?”

 

“So were you,” Merlin retorts. He holds up the take-away bag in his hand. “I figured you’d still be here, though, so I brought you dinner.”

 

“Oh.” Arthur looks wrong-footed, but also strangely pleased. “Well, thank you. I love Chinese food.”

 

“I know,” Merlin says. “It’s literally the only thing you ever order.”

 

To his amusement, Arthur blushes a little. “There’s nothing wrong with having a favourite,” he says defensively. He pulls out his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

 

Merlin waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’ll add it to your bill.”

 

“My bill?”

 

“Someone has to pay for all the therapy sessions I’m going to require after working for you,” Merlin says, deadpan, and Arthur looks startled for a second before breaking into a crooked grin. Merlin grins back, trying to ignore the slow liquefaction of his internal organs that is the inevitable result of being too close to Arthur’s smile.

 

“I’m not that bad,” his boss says. “I don’t think I’ve actually yelled at you in almost forty-eight hours now.”

 

“A personal record.” Merlin shrugs. “It’s all right, though. I think I’m slowly training you to be less of a prat.”

 

For a moment, he thinks Arthur might be offended; the other man just looks at him for a second, head tilted, then glances down at the take-out containers Merlin is still holding in his other hand.

 

“How much food is in that bag, exactly?” Arthur asks, gesturing. “Enough for two people?”

 

“Maybe.” Merlin raises his eyebrows. “But those two people would have to share the chopsticks. Why, what did you have in mind?”

 

“Well, since you’re here, and I’m here, and you brought food…” Arthur trails off, and when Merlin doesn’t add anything, he shuffles on the spot and scrubs a hand through his hair, glancing away with a sheepish expression. “You don’t have to. But if you’d like, you could join me for dinner?”

 

Which is how Merlin ends up sitting with Arthur in his office, surrounded by piles of paper and half-empty containers of Chinese food, watching Arthur attempt to use two pens as makeshift chopsticks and trying not to give away the fact that he’s falling even more helplessly in love with his boss by the second.

 

Destiny has really fucked up big time, Merlin’s pretty sure.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait until Sunday to post this, but, well, I got a couple of lovely gift fics today (WHICH YOU SHOULD TOTALLY READ [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744654) AND [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14749373)) and since this fic was originally intended as a bribe, I guess it can also double as a thank you fic as well. So here, have the second chapter early XD

 

“It was _not a date_ ,” Merlin says, pointing his fork at Gwen to emphasise just how off-base her assessment is. “A date is planned in advance, with flowers and candles and romantic music. This was just…making a virtue of necessity.”

 

“Right,” Gwen says, raising an eyebrow at him sceptically over her Caesar salad. “And the fact that you’re sitting there humming _Walking on Sunshine_ to yourself and staring into space doesn’t mean anything at all.”

 

Merlin feels himself flush. “Just because I’d have _liked_ it to be a date doesn’t mean it was,” he argues. “Besides, I’m not the one who picked the song. That’s totally my soulmate’s fault.”

 

Gwen squeals and claps her hands together. A couple of the other diners turn to look at her in surprise, and she winces and mouths an apology, leaning across the table to whisper to Merlin: “What if it’s Arthur?”

 

Merlin looks at her blankly. “What if what’s Arthur?”

 

“Your _soulmate_. What if he’s the one singing that song, because of your date last night?”

 

“For the last time, it wasn’t a date!” Merlin glares at her. “And it couldn’t be Arthur. He probably only listens to classical music, and anyway, I would _know_.”

 

“How? It’s not like you’ve ever heard him sing, you told me so yourself.”

 

“I’d know because people always _know_ ,” Merlin says. “That’s the whole point of having a soulmate. You meet them, and then you just…know.”

 

“Maybe some people do,” Gwen says. “I mean, that’s how it was for me and Leon. But that’s because we had a pretty glaringly obvious sign to go by. Maybe it’s different for you.”

 

“Maybe.” Merlin pokes morosely at his own lunch, which is some form of macaroni and cheese pasta bake, only it seems to be missing most of the cheese. “Or maybe I’m just doomed to be one of those tragic cases on TV talk shows who falls in love with the wrong person, thereby creating a horribly angsty love triangle in which someone gets shot and I end up pining away alone.”

 

“You might want to test a few things out before you consign yourself to a lifetime of daytime television,” Gwen says practically. She stabs her fork in his direction. “Try a nice song, this time. Something unusual. If you hear Arthur humming it, you’ll know that it’s him.”

 

“A nice song?” Merlin is dubious.

 

“ _Walking on Sunshine_ is a nice song. Annoyingly catchy, but nice. Something like that would be perfect.”

 

“What if he doesn’t like it?” Merlin objects. “What if I don’t hear him sing along, or worse, it isn’t him, and I turn around and find George from Accounting humming it instead?”

 

Gwen giggles around a mouthful of chicken. “Then at least you’ll know that Destiny has a sense of humour.”

 

 

+

 

 

Eventually, Merlin settles on _Love Love Love_ by Avalanche, being both catchy and satisfyingly ‘nice’ according to Gwen’s definition. There is, however, a major flaw in Gwen’s plan that Merlin doesn’t realise until he gets to work the following Monday, and that is this: nobody, but nobody, feels inspired to sing along to happy clappy love songs on a Monday morning, especially not at Pendragon  & Son.

 

“We’ve lost two cases already this month,” Uther Pendragon barks, striding across the bullpen with his hands clasped behind his back. He looks, in Merlin’s opinion, like an old-fashioned battle commander, one of the sort who got all his men killed on the Somme because he couldn’t get his head into the twentieth century. Beside him, Arthur looks like he’s nursing a burgeoning headache. “And losing cases means losing clients, which means losing billable hours, which means that none of you will be getting a Christmas bonus if you don’t shape up. I am not impressed.”

 

He glares around the floor. Merlin does his best not to shrink into his seat as Uther’s eyes pass over him, wondering how it is that this man always manages to make him feel like a five year old, instead of an actual adult with an actual law degree.

 

“I want to see some results, people,” Uther says, and the room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. “Or I _will_ be making some changes to this department. Do you understand me?”

 

He glowers at them all for a moment longer; then, having satisfied himself that they’re taking his threat seriously, he stalks out of the room towards the lifts. Only when the doors have closed and the last of Uther’s footsteps have died away does Arthur speak.

 

“All right, everyone,” he says, his modulated voice cutting through the quiet in a way Uther’s bellowing never could. “As my father said, we’ve taken some hits recently. I’m sure you’re all doing your best, but as we all know, this is a numbers game—and it’s our job to ensure the firm continues _gaining_ clients, not _losing_ clients, and that means winning. I know you’re all pretty busy already, but later in the week you’re going to receive an email detailing your new assignments, so it would be a good idea to clear out some of that back-log before the Christmas holidays.”

 

A collective groan runs through the room, and Arthur smiles sympathetically. “I know, I know,” he says. “I’m a slave-driver. But the fact is, we’ve got some important cases coming up in the new year, and I need you all to step up and do your bit in terms of research. If Pendragon succeeds, you all succeed, remember? Besides,” he grins, “I’m going to be working harder than any of you, going through the Caerleon briefs, so I don’t think you have any right to complain.”

 

Gwaine boos loudly from the back of the room, but most of the rest of the associates seem mollified. When Arthur gestures for them to return to work shortly afterwards, Merlin’s pretty sure he’s the only one who notices the way Arthur’s shoulders slump as soon as the spotlight moves away from him, or the way he rubs the bridge of his nose as he heads towards his office, his eyebrows pulled tightly together as though in pain.

 

“Hey, Gwaine, cover for me, will you?” Merlin asks, slipping around his desk and making a beeline for Arthur’s office.

 

“Cover for— Merlin! No one likes a suck-up,” Gwaine calls after him. Merlin discreetly flips him off over his shoulder, then knocks lightly on Arthur’s door before pushing it open.

 

“Hey, Arthur, do you have a minute?”

 

Arthur straightens up at his desk, blinking at Merlin. He looks like a toddler interrupted in the middle of nap-time: his blond hair is adorably rumpled, his tie hanging slightly askew where he had obviously loosened it once he reached the comparative privacy of his office. For a moment, Merlin feels guilty for interrupting what was clearly intended to be a quiet moment. To his relief, however, Arthur doesn’t seem angry.

 

“Merlin,” he says, running a hand through his hair in what is possibly an unconscious attempt to smooth it. It has exactly the opposite effect, and Merlin has to hide an amused grin as he takes a seat in the chair that Arthur offers him. “What can I do for you?”

 

“Actually, I was wondering more what I might be able to do for you,” Merlin says bluntly. “You look all in.”

 

“Thanks,” Arthur says, voice dry. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.”

 

“No, seriously.” Merlin scoots his chair a little closer. “Is everything okay? I know things have been tough recently, but we’ll bounce back. We always do.”

 

“I know.” Arthur’s mouth softens a little, though it isn’t quite a smile. “My father’s been pushing me to take on a larger role in the company these days, that’s all. It’s not that I mind the hours, but it’s a lot of responsibility, and since Sefa defected to Gorlois & LeFay last month I guess I’m a little behind on filing some of my paperwork—”

 

He breaks off with a grimace. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you all this.”

 

“It’s fine. I did come in here asking to help, after all.” Merlin looks at him critically, taking in the dark shadows under his eyes and the faint hint of scruff on his cheeks. He has seldom seen Arthur Pendragon looking anything less than perfectly put-together, even late at night when he’s been burning the midnight oil. Clearly things are worse than he’d thought. “All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. By my watch, it’s just after 4pm. You are going to finish off anything outstanding in the next two hours, and then you’re going to go home at a normal time, just like everybody else. You are _not_ going to still be here at 10:30pm when even the janitor has packed up and left, got it?”

 

Arthur smiles at him bemusedly. “And what makes you think I’m going to listen to a word you say?”

 

“Because I’m right, and you know it,” Merlin says, pointing at him. “And because if you go home early and get some actual sleep for a change, tomorrow I’ll sit down with you and help you sort out that mess Caerleon’s lawyer sent us. I’m sure between the two of us, we can come up with a way to get him what he wants without tanking the merger with Essetir.”

 

Arthur continues to study him for a long moment, and Merlin waits, a little nervously, for him to respond. He’s not usually so pushy about Arthur’s personal life, but damn it, if he doesn’t say it, no one will, and Arthur deserves better than to burn himself out because he’s trying to do the impossible all on his own.

 

“All right,” Arthur says finally. “On one condition.”

 

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “Which is?”

 

“Have dinner with me,” Arthur says in a rush. “It’s not—I know I’m technically your boss and everything, and I don’t want you to feel pressured, I just—have dinner with me. Please. I still owe you for the Chinese, and I’d rather not eat alone.”

 

Merlin would like to say that he hesitates, or spares the briefest of thoughts for his soulmate, whoever he is, but the fact of the matter is that the idea of saying no doesn’t even cross his mind. There’s always the slimmest of chances that his soulmate is actually Arthur, anyway, so it’s not like there’s any harm in trying to find out.

 

“All right,” he says, echoing Arthur’s earlier acquiescence with a slow smile. “I—yeah, okay. Someone has to make sure you keep your word, after all.”

 

Arthur’s answering smile makes the panic attack Merlin is going to have later feel _totally worth it_.


	3. Chapter 3

 

“No way,” Arthur says, laughing out loud. “Don’t tell me you actually enjoyed that film. I’m going to have to revoke your good taste card.”

 

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Merlin says, waving a chip at him. “If you consider it in the context of the science fiction stories of the time—”

 

“—it was still completely terrible,” Arthur finishes for him. He plucks the chip out of Merlin’s hand and pops it into his mouth, chewing with a smug grin that Merlin tries and fails to find irredeemably irritating. “Forget it, Merlin. Nothing you say is going to make up for that ending.”

 

Merlin rolls his eyes and picks up another chip, biting into it quickly before Arthur can pinch that one too. He’s not sure exactly how they graduated from the usual small-talk to rubbishing each other’s taste in movies and stealing each other’s food, but it’s not like he’s complaining. Arthur is funnier than he’d expected outside of the office, and he’s been growing progressively more relaxed with every sip of beer he takes, losing some of the tightness around his eyes and his formal demeanour. It’s even better than their first not-date, because that time they’d both been distracted and had spent the whole time talking about work, which meant they hadn’t had the chance to actually discuss anything _interesting_.

 

“All right,” Arthur says, leaning back in his seat. “Top ten favourite movies of all time. Go.”

 

“That’s not a fair question,” Merlin says immediately, shaking his head. “What are the parameters? Do trilogies count as one movie, for example, or would something like Star Wars have to take the top three spots?”

 

“More, if you count the other movies,” Arthur says. “So choose wisely.”

 

Merlin looks at him, deadpan. “What are you talking about? There are only three Star Wars films.”

 

“Denial is not an attractive quality, Merlin.”

 

“Neither is Sequelitis, and yet, it happens. I have three words for you, my friend,” Merlin says, and grins when Arthur winces. “Jar Jar Binks. End of story.”

 

By the time they’ve finished eating, Merlin and Arthur have argued their way through several lists of favourites: movies, books, foods, and—at Merlin’s insistence—music. So far, Merlin has learned that Arthur has a half-sister who plays the violin, hates tomatoes with an unreasoning passion, and has never read the _Harry Potter_ series, which Merlin considers to be a borderline crime against humanity.

 

“My father hates anything to do with fantasy,” Arthur confesses, as they pull on their coats and step out into the chill autumn air. “So he banned them from the house. Morgana and I were never allowed to read fairytales when I was a kid, either. He refused to let us grow up believing in something as impractical as magic.”

 

“What about soulmates?” Merlin asks, looking at him sidelong. Arthur’s chin is tucked into his scarf, his eyes focused on the icy footpath as he walks, and he looks absolutely beautiful in the reflected light. “You’ve got to believe in those, right?”

 

“Insofar as they’re a documented scientific phenomenon, sure,” Arthur says, shrugging. “But if you mean do I believe that there’s a single perfect person out there who will somehow make my life complete just by existing? No. No, I don’t believe in soulmates.”

 

“Oh.” And just like that, Merlin’s happy bubble pops, his stomach plummeting down to his shoes. So much for Gwen’s theory about Arthur secretly being The One, then. No one who knew for sure that their soulmate was out there—whether it was through a tattoo on their body or music in their head—would refuse to believe in them; it was just plain common sense. Which meant that Arthur probably didn’t have a soulmate, which also meant that he couldn’t possibly be the man who had been tormenting Merlin with catchy tunes for so long. A man Merlin is currently cheating on _right now_ , or as good as. “Well, I suppose that’s fair.”

 

“What about you?” Arthur’s blue eyes are intense in the moonlight, his cheeks flushed. “What do you think of the whole soul-bonds idea?”

 

Merlin hesitates. He does believe in soulmates, of course he does, and he doesn’t want to lie to Arthur, not when the other man has been nothing but honest with him all evening. But he doesn’t want to come off as one of those people who are completely obsessed, either, and he _really_ doesn’t want to explain that the reason he’d agreed to come out with Arthur even though he’s soul-bonded was because he’d been hoping that Arthur _was_ his soulmate.

 

“My parents were soul-bonded,” he says at last. “And I remember how much they loved each other.My dad was a sculptor—he used to make little dragons and princes to sell, for kids and stuff, you know? And he’d tell me fairytales about brave knights who fought dragons to rescue their soulmates. It was kind of a big thing with both of them. So yeah, I guess I believe in them.”

 

“Dragons and princes,” Arthur muses. “No princesses?”

 

“A couple.” Merlin bites his lip, feeling a little shy. “But they were mostly background characters, to be honest. Even when I was a little kid, I preferred princes to damsels, in distress or otherwise.”

 

“Ah.” Arthur nods, a tiny smile lighting his face. “And your dad’s okay with that?”

 

“He was.” Merlin looked away. “He—died, when I was eight. Drunk driver. I don’t really have many memories of him, except for those stories, and how sad it made my mum when he was killed.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Arthur’s shoulder bumps his. “That’s rough. My mum died when I was born, so I know what it’s like to grow up without a parent. I don’t have any memories of her at all, though, so I don’t know whether that’s better or worse.”

 

It’s on the tip of Merlin’s tongue to say that he already knows about Arthur's history—Ygraine’s tragic death has been water-cooler gossip at Pendragon & Son since forever, and it still gets trotted out every now and again when topics for discussion are scarce—but he bites it back. “I’m not sure, either,” he says instead, and on impulse reaches out, threading Arthur’s fingers with his and squeezing his hand. “How about we agree that both options suck and leave it at that?”

 

Arthur laughs, and the sombre mood dissipates a little, although Merlin still finds it difficult to return to the unfettered happiness of before. He knows his mum would disapprove of what he’s doing, going out with Arthur when he knows they’re not destined to end up together. In spite of Balinor’s early death, Hunith had remained committed to her belief in soul-matching, and she had been delighted when Merlin had told her about the beginnings of his own, admittedly unusual soul-bond. She wouldn’t have been able to see the point of dating Arthur when the possibility of so much more lurked just around the corner. And it wasn’t exactly fair to Arthur, either, who may not have a soulmate but who nevertheless deserved the chance at his own kind of happily ever after.

 

A happily ever after that would never, and could never, involve Merlin.

 

Fuck.

 

Arthur insists on seeing Merlin home, despite the fact that it means going several stops out of his way, and Merlin doesn’t have the heart to refuse him. If this is all he gets—this one night with Arthur before he has to put an end to it—then he wants to milk it for all it’s worth, and he’s not about to turn down the chance for the two of them to spend more time alone together. Arthur, too, seems not to want the evening to end, as he accompanies Merlin right up to the door of his building and lingers there on the top step, talking to Merlin about everything and anything until the conversation eventually peters out.

 

“I had a great time tonight,” Merlin says into the silence. “And I stand by what I said earlier; tomorrow we’re going to come up with the best multi-million dollar contract Caerleon has ever seen.”

 

“I’ll look forward to it.” Arthur smiles, then reaches out and hooks Merlin’s little finger with his own, swinging their joined hands in the space between them. “Although, if I’m honest, that’s not the real reason I asked you to join me this evening.”

 

“Really?” Merlin feigns surprise. “You mean you didn’t invite me to dinner to listen to my scintillating interpretation of corporate contract law? I’m shocked, especially considering the all of two seconds we spent on the topic.”

 

“Very funny.” Arthur rolls his eyes, before looking down at their joined hands. “I—I know this is awkward, since technically I’m your boss, and I promise if you say no it won’t come up on your next performance review or anything, but I…I like you. A lot. I have done for quite a while, to tell you the truth. And I was wondering whether, maybe…”

 

They are standing very close. Merlin can feel his heart beating, a rapid double-thud in the centre of his chest, can see the white plume of Arthur’s breath as he exhales, clearly struggling for words.

 

“Maybe what?” Merlin asks softly, when Arthur doesn’t go on.

 

“I was wondering whether maybe you might like me, too,” Arthur says finally, quiet and serious now as his eyes search Merlin’s own. Merlin’s stomach flips over. This is the moment when he should say something—should tell Arthur about his soulmate and let him down gently. He should explain that, while he definitely does feel _something_ for Arthur, he can’t in good conscience pursue it when at any moment he might find his One True Love and be swept off his feet.

 

Only—Arthur is looking at him so earnestly, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes as he waits for Merlin’s response, and his thumb is stroking along Merlin’s wrist, an unconscious gesture that makes Merlin’s knees feel wobbly and weak.

 

“Arthur…” he whispers, not sure if he’s warning or pleading—or both.

 

“Merlin,” Arthur whispers back. He steps even closer, his breath warm on Merlin’s neck, nose brushing against Merlin’s cheek as he leans in. Merlin stands perfectly still, closing his eyes. Surely one kiss won’t hurt anyone. One kiss, and then he’ll explain to Arthur that he’d prefer to just be friends, and he’ll go off and find his soulmate and they’ll all live happily ever after. It could happen, right?

 

Arthur’s lips are soft and warm on his, tentative at first but growing more confident when Merlin doesn’t push him away. One of Arthur’s hands lifts to cup the back of Merlin’s head, and Merlin lets out a soft moan, pressing eagerly forward. His fingers grip Arthur’s shirt, and he opens himself to the kiss, burying his hesitations in the wet heat of Arthur’s mouth.

 

It’s not like Merlin hasn’t been kissed before. He hadn’t realised he had an actual, proper soulmate until he was in his early twenties, and before that he hadn’t exactly been a monk. He’s had his fair share of good kisses—and bad kisses—and pretty much everything-in-between kisses, but this…this is something different altogether. Arthur kisses like it’s his one true mission in life, his tongue teasing against Merlin’s own, a gentle pressure that turns slowly into something hot and deep, something Merlin couldn’t pull away from to save his life. In the space of only a few seconds, Arthur has managed to systematically obliterate the resistance it had taken Merlin all evening to muster, and now all he can do is cling to Arthur’s coat for dear life, kissing him back with equal fervour—soulmate be damned.

 

It seems to take forever before they come up for air. When Arthur draws away, Merlin lets out a small sound of disappointment before he can stop himself, one hand lifting instinctively to touch his mouth.

 

“Okay?” Arthur asks, sounding breathless.

 

“I—yeah,” Merlin says, swallowing hard. “Although I think maybe you just broke my brain.”

 

Arthur laughs and leans in to give him another kiss, this time merely a chaste peck on the cheek. “And just when you need it for working on that contract, too," he says, with mock regret. "What a shame. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah,” Merlin says weakly. “Tomorrow.”

 

“All right. Good night, Merlin,” Arthur says, and with a wave, he turns and begins walking in the direction of the nearest tube station, glancing back over his shoulder at Merlin with every other step. Even through the darkness, Merlin is pretty sure he can see him smiling.

 

He watches until Arthur is out of sight, leaning against the door to the high-rise and trying to regain his breath. Only once Arthur has turned the corner and vanished into the shadows does he shake himself and turn away, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. He can still feel Arthur’s lips on his, can still see the look in his eyes as he’d leaned in for the kiss. _I like you. A lot_.

 

Merlin’s head thunks painfully against the wood of the door—once, twice, and then again for good measure. He is so, so screwed.


	4. Chapter 4

 

“You did _what!?_ ” Gwen exclaims, dropping her spoon with a loud clatter. She pays no attention as it falls off the table and onto the floor, too busy staring at Merlin with her mouth open. “And you’re just telling me this _now?!”_

 

“Shh, keep your voice down,” Merlin hisses, making shushing motions with his hands. The deli where they meet is just around the corner from the Pendragon building, and Merlin is willing to bet at least half of the customers currently eating their lunch at the tables around them also work for Pendragon & Son. He’s fairly certain he recognises George from the Accounting floor over in the corner. “I needed some time to think, okay? It kind of took me a while to process things.”

 

“So that’s what the kids are calling it these days,” Gwen says, grinning when Merlin glares at her. She leans forward across the table. “So? How was it?”

 

“It was…it was pretty much perfect, actually,” Merlin admits, looking down and toying with his chicken melt. He winces as Gwen squeals loudly again. “Which is kind of the problem.”

 

“What?” Gwen’s face falls. “But you just said—”

 

“I have a _soulmate_ , Gwen,” Merlin hisses, glancing around to check they’re not being overheard. “Whatever I may feel for Arthur, I can’t just…just string him along while I wait for something better to come along. I like him too much to do that, and in any case, it wouldn’t be fair.”

 

“But…” Gwen scrunches up her nose, looking confused. “Isn’t Arthur your soulmate? I thought…”

 

“No.” Merlin closes his eyes. “He doesn’t have a soulmate, Gwen. He told me.”

 

“Oh. Oh, Merlin, I’m sorry.”

 

When Merlin opens his eyes again, Gwen is looking at him with such a sad expression that he can feel the beginnings of tears prickling behind his eyelids. Angrily, he stabs a fork into his melt and begins to eat, swallowing his feelings along with his food. If only he could swallow the horrible lump in his throat as well. “It was stupid,” he says. “I was stupid. I never should have accepted his invitation, but I wanted to spend time with him, and I thought—I thought because I liked him, maybe…”

 

“I know.” Gwen reaches over and squeezes his arm, all trace of teasing gone now that she’s aware of Merlin’s distress. “And it was good that you tried. Who knows, maybe this will end up bringing you closer to your soulmate in the end, you know?”

 

Trust Gwen to look for the bright side in everything. Merlin gives her a somewhat watery smile and nods, ignoring the pang in his heart at the thought of being with anyone other than Arthur. It seems silly to have fallen so hard so quickly, even if he has been pining from afar for several years, but there’s something about Arthur that just feels... _right_ —like they’re two halves of the same coin.

 

Gwen is watching his face. “Are you going to tell him?”

 

“I don’t know.” Merlin sighs. “I tried to this morning, but the look on his face…”

 

Arthur’s eyes had lit up when Merlin walked into his office, and he had greeted him with another of those devastating grins, his cheeks turning pink in a way that would have been damning had anyone else been watching. The whole thing had been ridiculously sweet—especially as Arthur had clearly been trying hard to be just as much of a prat as ever. It was at that point that Merlin had realised he was doomed; he even found Arthur’s dickishness endearing. “I just feel so awful. If it weren’t for this stupid soul-bond, I think we’d really have a chance of something special.”

 

“Hmm.” Gwen purses her lips thoughtfully. “Are you totally sure it can’t be him? What did he say to you precisely?”

 

Merlin thinks back over his and Arthur’s conversation the night before, groping for Arthur’s exact words. “He told me he doesn’t believe in soulmates and that there isn’t a perfect person out there for him,” he recites finally. “I’d say that’s pretty clear.”

 

“Not believing in soulmates isn’t the same as not having one,” Gwen points out. “You could try asking him about it directly.”

 

“And say what? ‘Excuse me, but I was wondering whether you’ve been listening to some annoyingly catchy songs lately because I think you might be my soulmate’? It’s not like that’s a normal kind of soul bond to have—he’ll think I’m crazy, or trying to set him up or something. Besides.” Merlin shrugs uncomfortably. “Then I’d have to admit I went out on a date with him and didn’t tell him that I’m soul-matched. What if it isn’t him? Worse, what if it _is_? I don’t want him to hate me.”

 

Now it’s Gwen’s turn to sigh, and she shakes her head, digging into her yoghurt with her spoon. “I still think you’re making this way too complicated.”

 

“That’s because it is complicated,” Merlin grumbles as he turns back to his own lunch. “There is nothing about this situation that is not complicated. That’s just how my life works.”

 

 

+

 

 

Between helping Arthur and his team with the Caerleon contract and doing research for some of Pendragon & Son’s other cases, Merlin doesn’t get the opportunity to speak to Arthur privately about their date until much later than he’d anticipated. Part of him is grateful for the excuse to put it off, but another part is wise enough to realise that the longer he waits, the harder it’s going to be to turn Arthur down. To make matters worse, at some point during his tea break his soulmate starts singing _All You Need is Love_ in the back of his head, which definitely doesn’t help his mood.

 

As luck would have it, however, Merlin is just packing up his things ready to head home when he sees Arthur striding past him towards the lifts, carrying his briefcase and no doubt about to head home himself. Abandoning his attempts to tidy his desk—it’s always perpetually messy anyway, so it’s not like it matters—Merlin dashes after him, slipping inside the elevator just as the door closes. Arthur looks surprised for a moment, then favours Merlin with another one of those knee-melting smiles.

 

“Hey,” he says, his cheeks dimpling. “Fancy meeting you here.”

 

“We work in the same office, Arthur,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes. “It would be weird if you _didn’t_ meet me here.” He wipes his palms surreptitiously on his trousers and hits the button for the ground floor, hoping Arthur can’t tell how nervous he is. “But it’s good to see you’re taking my advice and leaving early for a change.”

 

Arthur chuckles, and Merlin’s heart does a nauseating shimmy in his chest. “It’s Friday; I can just come in over the weekend to make up for it,” Arthur says, shrugging. “Besides, someone told me that I’ve been looking tired recently. I figure that means I should try to catch up on some sleep while I have the chance.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Merlin says, nodding. He watches the numbers counting down on the screen above the door, aware that this might be the last chance he has to talk to Arthur until after the weekend but not knowing how to begin. “You aren’t going to spend the _entire_ weekend working, though, right?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I thought you might be able to help me with that.” Arthur’s eyebrows give a truly horrendous wriggle. “What do you say to dinner and a movie tomorrow night? I’ll even let you pick, despite the fact that you have terrible taste in films.”

 

Merlin takes a deep breath. “I can’t,” he says. “I—I’m kind of busy tomorrow.”

 

“Oh.” Arthur’s face falls for a moment, but he recovers almost immediately. “You still have to eat, though, right? We could just do dinner again, if you don’t have other plans. Or—there’s always Sunday?”

 

For a split second, Merlin is horribly tempted to say yes. Surely it would be better to tell Arthur everything over a meal, where Merlin can explain the whole story to him in private and apologise without worrying about being overheard. Only, he knows that if he lets himself put it off again, he’ll only come up with another excuse and then another, and eventually he and Arthur will wind up getting married or something before Merlin has the guts to tell him the truth.

 

It probably says something about how bad his infatuation has become that this doesn’t actually sound like a worst case scenario.

 

“Arthur, I’m sorry,” Merlin says, and he has to call on every ounce of his self-possession to keep from climbing out the utility hatch and flinging himself down the lift shaft rather than say what he has to say next. “I just—I don’t think this is going to work.”

 

“Oh.” Arthur’s voice is blank, but Merlin catches the brief look of hurt surprise before his usually expressive features wipe themselves clean. “May I ask why not?”

 

“It’s not you,” Merlin hastens to assure him. Arthur’s face is so—so _flat_ , as if a switch has suddenly been turned off behind his eyes, and Merlin knows how sudden this reversal of opinion must seem to him. If only he’d had the strength to say no in the first place, he wouldn’t have had to do this, and Arthur wouldn’t be looking at him like he just cut off the power supply to his personality. “I know this sounds like a cliche, but it really is me. I’m sort of—I don’t—I can’t get involved with anyone right now. I know I should have said something earlier, but I really liked you, and I thought—well. I’m sorry.”

 

Arthur just looks at him for a long moment. It’s hard to say what he might be thinking; whether he’s frustrated, disappointed, or even angry. Merlin tries hard to convey how really, truly sorry he is through his expression and waits, hoping that Arthur will take his word for that at least, even if he doesn’t believe him about anything else. Then the elevator reaches the ground floor and lets out a soft _ding_ , the doors opening, and at last Arthur turns away.

 

“I see. Well, thank you for telling me.” His voice is still devoid of any emotion, but his eyes glitter like frost when they dart over to Merlin’s one last time. “Good night, Merlin.”

 

He’s already out the door before Merlin can figure out how to respond.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

The lead-up to Christmas is as miserable as the weather. The radio starts playing Christmas carols in early December, and their influence is so all-pervasive that even if Merlin had the heart to try to track down his soulmate again, it would have been impossible thanks to the near-constant interference. No one is immune, and even Merlin finds himself humming _All I Want for Christmas (Is You)_ under his breath some days without consciously intending to, his gaze straying automatically towards the closed door of Arthur’s office. Of course, he can’t tell if that’s because his soulmate is singing it, or if it’s just him, so it doesn’t count.

 

On the bright side, the amount of work he has to do means that Merlin hardly has time to dwell on his problems, and he barely sees Arthur at all except in passing. He clings to Gwen’s idea that something good could somehow come from this, that it will eventually lead him on to bigger and better things, but it’s hard when all he wants to do is storm into Arthur’s office and kiss him again in front of everyone, regardless of the consequences.

 

“You just need to give it time,” Gwen says, whenever he complains to her about the injustice of the situation. “You’re disappointed, Merlin. Give yourself the chance to grieve.”

 

“But it’s so ridiculous,” Merlin says, tipping his head back with an explosive sigh. “I knew from the beginning it probably wouldn’t be him, and it’s not as if we were in a long-term relationship or anything. It was only one kiss, for crying out loud! Why do I feel so bad?”

 

“Sweetie, I don’t know.” Gwen kisses his forehead as she passes in a maternal gesture. “I think maybe you were hoping it would turn out to be Arthur all along, you just didn’t realise how much.”

 

Merlin grumbles something about his subconscious being an idiot, but later he has to admit that she’s probably right. He’s been pining after Arthur for so long that it would have made sense, in a karmic sort of way, if it turned out that Arthur was also his soulmate. But instead, Merlin has apparently just blown a silly little crush way out of proportion, which is kind of embarrassing and more than a little awkward. He can only be grateful that he didn’t make an even bigger fool out of himself by telling Arthur how he feels. God forbid the prat should realise how close Merlin had come to giving up on his destiny, just because he liked the way Arthur looked when he smiled.

 

 

+

 

 

At Gwen’s suggestion, Merlin starts listening to random non-Christmas music on repeat in an effort to weed his soulmate out of the crowd. Given his mood, these aren’t particularly cheerful songs, and Merlin nearly has a heart attack one morning when he arrives early to find Percival, the Pendragons’ security guard, humming _Let Her Go_ under his breath as he tidies up his desk. Merlin stands stock still, staring at him for a moment—he likes Percy and all, but not _that_ much, and anyway, he thought the man was already married—before he realises that Percy has his headphones in and is listening to a playlist on Spotify. He waves weakly when the man looks up and smiles at him, then shakes his head at himself as he steps into the lift. He’s being a right idiot about this whole thing, letting what happened with Arthur trick him into seeing soulmates everywhere. Who's to say his soulmate is even in the same hemisphere, let alone the same building? Knowing his luck, the man actually lives in Timbuktu, and their chances of ever meeting in reality are next to zero.

 

Arthur wishes him a Merry Christmas via post-it note, which is the main way the two of them have been communicating over the past few weeks, and on the first day of Christmas break Merlin takes the train back to his mother’s place in Ealdor, watching the London skyline disappear into the distance with a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He loves his mum, he really does, but he isn’t in the mood to celebrate anything just at the moment, a fact which Hunith appears to pick up on within five seconds of his stepping through the door.

 

“What’s the matter, _cariad_?” she asks, kissing his cheek and helping him off with his coat, which she hangs up automatically on the rack in the hall. Merlin toes off his boots and doesn’t answer, folding her into a massive hug instead, and Hunith strokes his hair like he’s a little kid, making concerned noises in the back of her throat. “Now you’re really worrying me, love. Has something happened?”

 

“When you met Dad,” Merlin says, speaking in a muffled voice into the collar of her shirt, “how did you know he was The One? I mean, I know you started seeing in colour and everything, but did it all just happen all at once, or was it a gradual thing? Did you know you loved him right away or did it take a while before you actually _felt_ it? And how did you know there could never be anyone else? Just because he was your soulmate, does that mean he’s the only one you could end up with, or could there have been someone else only you happened to meet him _first_ —”

 

“Wait, Merlin, slow down.” Hunith takes a step back and grasps his shoulders, halting the flow of babble in an instant. Merlin has to fight not to squirm as she regards him with an assessing expression, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. “All right. Start from the beginning. What is this all about?”

 

And so Merlin tells her. Hunith steers him into the kitchen as he talks, sitting him down at the dining table and sliding a plateful of gingerbread under his nose, along with a steaming cup of hot apple cider. By the time Merlin has finished eating and has his hands cupped around the mug, inhaling the spicy scent, his story has begun to taper off, and his mother is sitting opposite him at the other end of the table, leaning on her elbows as she looks at him with sympathetic eyes.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what to tell you,” she says. “When I met your father, it was obvious to both of us that we were meant to be together. It wasn’t just that we could see in colour for the first time in our lives—to be honest, that was more of a headache than anything, at least for the first few weeks. It was just…obvious. We could hardly keep our hands off one another.”

 

“Mum!” Merlin says, scandalised, and Hunith laughs.

 

“Well, it’s true. We were young and in love, and the attraction was instantaneous. I don’t think either of us even thought to question whether there might be somebody else.”

 

Merlin sighs. “That’s the exact opposite of me and Arthur, then,” he says. “I hated him at first, d’you remember? I threatened to quit my job practically every other day.”

 

“And yet, you stayed.”

 

“If it hadn’t been for Gwen, I’d have walked out in a heartbeat,” Merlin says, shaking his head. “And it wasn’t until quite a bit later that I started to think maybe Arthur had some redeeming qualities, let alone actually like him a little.”

 

Hunith makes a considering noise and gets up to refill their mugs. Setting Merlin’s back down in front of him, she says thoughtfully, “Merlin, when exactly did you start hearing the songs in your head?”

 

Merlin makes a face. “When you put it like that, it sounds so bizarre,” he says. “But I guess it was—what, about five or six years ago now. Why?”

 

“That was around the time you first met Arthur, wasn’t it?”

 

“Well…yeah. But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.” His mother fixes him with a look, and Merlin picks up his cup and takes a large gulp of its contents in a transparent attempt to avoid her gaze. He doesn’t know why he’s trying to talk her out of it, really, since he definitely _wants_ Arthur to be his soulmate. It’s just—after everything that has happened, getting his hopes up seems like it would be an extremely foolish thing to do. “All right, maybe it does. But there are loads of people working in that firm, Mum. It could have been triggered by any one of them. That is, if it’s even a soul bond at all,” he adds, remembering his Arthur-is-actually-just-driving-him-round-the-bend theory. “Maybe I’m just weird.”

 

“I wouldn’t love you so much if you weren’t,” Hunith says, with an amused smile. “But I think you need to follow your instincts on this one. And if your gut is telling you that this Arthur Pendragon is The One for you, then…”

 

“...go with the gut.” Merlin lets out an explosive breath. “I wish it were that easy.”

 

His mother doesn’t say anything for a while, taking another slice of gingerbread from the plate and breaking off tiny pieces with her fingers, scattering crumbs all over the table before popping them into her mouth. Merlin watches her in silence, until finally she says, “Merlin. I can see you like this man, and from what you’ve told me it sounds like he has feelings for you too. What I don’t understand is why you’re not willing to talk to him about it and see if it's the soul-bond you've been hoping for. It’s not like you not to go after something you want.”

 

“Yeah, well.” Merlin looks away. “Maybe I’m finally learning to look before I leap, like you’re always telling me.”

 

“Merlin.” She doesn’t raise her voice—Hunith never does—but there’s a warning in it all the same, and after a moment of internal struggle, Merlin gives in. He’s never been able to keep a secret from his mum for very long, anyway.

 

“I’m scared,” he admits, reaching for his own piece of gingerbread and beginning to demolish it rather aggressively over the tablecloth. “This feeling—it already seems so _big_ , you know? And if this is just the beginning...I’m not sure I’m ready for an actual soulmate. I mean—I can barely manage to keep my own life on track, let alone be part of someone else's. I'm not even thirty yet! And what if I talk to him and I find out he  _is_ my soulmate, and then something goes wrong? What if something happens to him?” He swallows. “I saw what happened with you and Dad, and I don’t—I don’t know if I can go through that. Not with Arthur.”

 

“Oh, Merlin.” Hunith lets the gingerbread fall to her plate and takes his hand, her fingers wrapping warmly around his own. “What happened to your father and I was bad luck, that’s all. There’s nothing to say that anything like that will happen to you.”

 

“I know,” Merlin says. “But what if it does? What if—”

 

“No,” Hunith says firmly, squeezing his hand and forcing it to be still. “No what-ifs. You listen to me, my boy. Any couple, not just soulmates, takes a risk in getting together. That’s part of what makes love so painful—and so very precious. The years I spent with your father were some of the happiest of my life. Even knowing what was going to happen and all the sorrow that came with it, I wouldn’t change a single thing, not for a second. Do you really want to miss out on the chance for so much happiness, just because you’re scared of how it’s going to end?”

 

Merlin looks down at the mess of crumbled gingerbread on the tabletop. “No,” he says in a small voice. “I guess not.”

 

“Then _call him_ ,” Hunith says. “What harm is there in trying?”

 

A lot of harm, probably, Merlin thinks, remembering Arthur's shuttered face and the long, unpleasant weeks that followed, but he knows a losing argument when he hears one. "I'll think about," he says finally. "All right? Maybe I'll give him a call after Christmas."

 

His mother continues to study him for a moment, until at last she nods and pushes back her chair. "All right," she says. "I'll leave it up to you." 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Just because Merlin _thinks_ about calling Arthur, however—inevitably, intrusively, and damn near incessantly—doesn’t make it any easier for him to actually do so.

 

At first, he tells himself it’s because he’s busy. The Emrys family—himself, his mother, and his uncle, Gaius—tend to go all out in their Christmas celebrations, and Hunith spends a lot of the time between Merlin’s arrival and Christmas Eve in the kitchen baking. Merlin gets roped into helping her more often than not, and is forced to listen to his mother’s favourite hits from the 90s and 00s blasting away on her second generation iPod while the two of them knead dough and line the baking trays.

 

“Are we expecting a visit from the British army?” Merlin asks, staring as yet another tray of neatly iced gingerbread men disappears into a biscuit tin. “I know you usually make a few extras, Mum, but this is really going above and beyond.”

 

“Uncle Gaius and I thought we’d take some around to his parishioners this year,” Hunith says, gesturing to the assorted confectionery. “Bring some Christmas cheer to the old folks in the neighbourhood, you know. Besides,” she adds, patting his cheek benignly. “You don’t want to be stuck with an empty cupboard if Arthur comes calling, do you? One bite of my mince pies and he’ll be yours for the asking, my boy—soulmate or not.”

 

Merlin narrows his eyes at her, but Hunith merely gives him a sunny smile in return, and he can’t quite tell if she’s serious or taking the piss. Either way, though, the message is clear: either Merlin calls Arthur, like he promised, or he’ll be punished with pop music and pastries from here to eternity. He’s not entirely sure which option sounds worse.

 

 

+

 

 

All through the first week of the holidays, Merlin drags his feet. Christmas comes and goes, passing by in a blur of bright wrapping paper and slightly tipsy Christmas carols, and then somehow it’s three days after Boxing Day and Merlin is staring down the barrel of the coming year without having spoken a single word to Arthur since he got home.

 

“It’s not that difficult,” he mutters to himself, his thumb hovering over the _Call_ button. “Just press the damn button, it’s really not that hard—”

 

“Who are you talking to, dear?” a familiar voice interrupts, and Merlin turns to find Alice, his uncle’s next door neighbour and particular friend, standing in the doorway behind him. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were on the phone—”

 

“Oh, I’m not,” Merlin assures her quickly, pocketing the device with a guilty smile. Aside from anything else, Alice is the coordinator of the neighbourhood outreach programme his mum and Gaius are part of, and Merlin is technically supposed to be helping them box up all the donated goods. His mum has _Wannabe_ playing on her iPod again, though, and Merlin had been forced to duck out into the hall for a reprieve. “Just checking my messages, you know.”

 

“Mhm.” Alice eyes him knowingly. “Your mother tells me you met a young man while you were in London. Is he the one you were hoping might call?”

 

“Maybe.” Merlin bites his lip, fighting down a blush. Everyone in Ealdor always refers to his life in the city like it’s something temporary, despite the fact that he has a flat and a job and has been living there for over five years. They also seem very keen to pair him up with someone, apparently under the impression that he ‘needs to settle down.’ “I mean, yeah, I met someone. But—it’s complicated.”

 

“Love usually is,” Alice says with a chuckle. “Is he your soulmate, by any chance? You know, people say that soul-matching helps to simplify the process, but in my experience that is not always true.”

 

“That’s just it.” Merlin sighs. “I don’t know. I thought he was, but he says he doesn’t have a soul mate, so…” He shrugs eloquently, and Alice clucks her tongue.

 

“Yes, I can see how that would be confusing,” she says. “Until I met my Gary, I thought I wasn’t going to be matched with anyone either. Only it turned out that we both had an exactly identical set of freckles across the back of our necks. Least useful form of a soul mark ever recorded, I’ve always said, including that poor fellow who had a birthmark on his—”

 

“Wait,” Merlin says, frowning and holding up a hand. He’s not sure he really wants to know where that poor man’s birthmark was. “I thought you and Uncle Gaius were soulmates.”

 

“Oh, no, dear,” Alice says, looking surprised. “Your uncle and I met after Gary died. What we have is—different, but I like to think it’s just as important, in its own way.”

 

“Oh.” Bemused, Merlin follows her gaze into the living room, where his uncle is busy parcelling up the assorted foodstuffs, occasionally stealing a minced pie from one of the plates when he thinks Hunith isn’t looking. It’s a cosy picture, and one that unexpectedly brings a lump to Merlin’s throat. He’s been so busy fretting about Arthur, stressing himself out over what he may or may not have lost, that he hasn’t really taken the time to appreciate what he already has.

 

“Merlin.” Alice’s hand settles on his shoulder, and Merlin looks up at her. “Call your friend. Even if he isn’t your soulmate, if your feelings for him run even half as deep as I suspect they do, then you never know—it might still turn out to be something special.”

 

Swallowing hard, Merlin manages to offer her a slightly watery smile. “Thanks, Auntie Alice,” he says, reverting to his childhood nickname for her as he gives her a sudden hug. “I might just do that.”

 

 

+

 

 

In spite, or perhaps in defiance of his newfound resolution, however, Merlin doesn’t get another chance to make a phone call until the following afternoon. He, Hunith, Alice and Gaius had spent most of the previous day delivering their food parcels, and afterwards Merlin had been so exhausted that he fell into bed straight after dinner. When he wakes up, it’s almost noon, and the sky outside is a dull, leaden colour that threatens the possibility of snow.

 

“There you are, sleepyhead,” his mother says, when he finally comes down in search of food. “I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”

 

“Not used to all that walking,” Merlin admits, grinning at her as he makes himself some toast. “I suppose it wore me out.”

 

“Or you haven’t been sleeping well,” Hunith says, eyeing him critically. “You know, that job of yours…”

 

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Don’t start, Mum,” he says. He butters his toast, pours his mum a fresh cup of tea from the kettle, and then ducks out into the living room before she can start lecturing him on working himself into an early grave. On any other day, he might not have minded so much, but today he’s finally made up his mind to call Arthur, and he really doesn’t need any other reason to feel anxious.

 

He eats his toast in large bites, stripping off the crusts first the way he used to do as a kid and stuffing them into his mouth all in one go. Then, with his plate clean and no other way to procrastinate the task before him, he settles himself on the sofa and pulls out his phone.

 

Arthur, naturally, answers on the second ring. “Hello, Arthur Pendragon speaking.”

 

“Arthur, hi,” Merlin says, feeling suddenly winded. “It’s Merlin. Please don’t hang up.”

 

There’s a brief pause on the other end, during which Arthur’s breathing sounds incredibly close. Merlin presses the phone a little harder against his ear and closes his eyes, picturing Arthur at home with his family—the father who doesn’t like fairytales and his half-sister with her violin. Is he happy? Has he thought about Merlin at all, or is he trying to forget he ever existed?

 

“Merlin,” Arthur says politely, just as Merlin is about to hang up himself in a panic. “I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

 

“I know.” There are fairy lights dangling from the living room window, and Merlin winds a strand of them around the fingers of his free hand, searching for words. “I just—I know it’s still technically a holiday and you can feel free to hang up on me if I’m interrupting anything important, but I was hoping you might have a minute to talk.”

 

“Of course.” He hears the sound of footsteps and then a door closing in the distance, and the background noise drops off sharply on the other end of the line. “Is everything all right?”

 

“Everything’s fine,” Merlin says, though the faint note of concern in Arthur’s voice is enough to make his heart turn over, even now. He closes his eyes, hitting his head gently against the back of the sofa. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. I mean…” He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “I wanted to apologise for the way we left things. The way _I_ left things. I should have been up front with you about everything from the start, and I wasn’t. So. I’m sorry.”

 

“Oh.” Arthur falls silent, and Merlin’s grip turns sweaty, his heart beating fast and hard in his throat. “Um, thanks, I guess? Although it would probably help if I knew what you were apologising for.”

 

“Oh! Right, sorry—see, I have a soulmate,” Merlin blurts. He probably could have phrased it more delicately, but now that he actually has Arthur on the phone, all of the things he’s been wanting to say to him come tumbling out at once. “I’ve known about him for a while, except I didn’t know exactly who he was, so I went out with you hoping that you’d be him only it turns out that you aren't and now I’m at home and I think Mum might actually play The Spice Girls' Greatest Hits on repeat for the rest of the holidays unless I talk to you about it—”

 

“Your mum likes The Spice Girls?” Arthur interrupts, sounding taken aback by this deluge of information.

 

“I’m not sure if she likes them or if she just knows that I don’t,” Merlin says, and he can feel his cheeks burning as he imagines Arthur’s expression on the other end of the line. “She’s been listening to _Wannabe_ almost nonstop since I got here, mostly in an effort to annoy me into doing what I’m told.”

 

“Hmm.” Arthur’s reply is distracted. “And how—how long has she been playing it for?”

 

“About five or six days, give or take. Why?” Merlin glances back towards the kitchen. “I don’t understand how she can tolerate it, but that’s my mum for you. I suppose I had to get my stubborn streak from somewhere.”

 

He’s half expecting Arthur to agree, or even threaten to use the same tactic in the office to make sure he gets his work done, but instead he just lets out a strangled laugh. Merlin frowns. “Arthur, are you okay? You sound—strange.”

 

“I’m fine,” Arthur says, still with that same weird note in his voice. “Better than fine, even. Listen, are you and your mum staying in tonight?”

 

Merlin blinks at the sudden change of topic. “Well—yeah, I guess so. We don’t have any plans to go out, that I know of. Why?”

 

“Good. Stay there, okay? I’m going to find a cab and then take the first train out to Ealdor. I should be there in a few hours.”

 

“A few hours?” Merlin’s voice rises to a squeak. “Arthur, what—?”

 

“I’ll tell you everything when I see you,” Arthur says hurriedly, and Merlin gets the impression that he’s already gathering up his things in preparation to leave. “Just—stay. All right? I love you.”

 

And then he’s gone, leaving Merlin staring at his phone in complete astonishment, wondering whether a) Arthur Pendragon had really just confessed to loving him over the phone, and b) he had in fact done so and then hung up on him.

 

“Well?” his mother asks, when Merlin wanders dazedly back into the kitchen some time later. The Spice Girls are belting out the same infernal chorus for the umpteenth time, but Hunith mercifully turns it off when she sees Merlin’s expression.

 

“You might want to get out the extra place settings,” he tells her, sitting down at the table with a heavy thump, “because I think we’re going to have a guest for dinner.”


	7. Chapter 7

 

Arthur is as good as his word, and he turns up on the Emrys’ doorstep a few hours later dressed in his habitual suit and tie, his coat collar half tucked in and snowflakes in his hair. Merlin opens the door, bemused and a little alarmed by his sudden appearance.

 

“Arthur, why are you—” he starts, but that’s as far as he gets before Arthur is on him, pushing him back into the hallway and kissing him hard.

 

Merlin gasps into his mouth, taken by surprise, but Arthur merely takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding hot and wet between Merlin’s lips. His nose is cold against Merlin’s cheek, frozen hands cupping Merlin’s face, and it feels so good that Merlin can’t help melting against him, twining his arms around Arthur’s neck and dislodging a shower of snow.

 

“You’re a menace,” Arthur says, as soon as they break apart. “You are so fucking—I thought the _Macarena_ was bad, but the Spice Girls? I actually considered knocking myself out at one point just to make it stop.”

 

Merlin frowns. “You were listening to the Spice Girls?”

 

“Not _listening to_ so much as being unwillingly tortured by.” Arthur glares at him, and when Merlin doesn’t respond he gives him a little shake. “Merlin. Do you know _why_ I haven’t been able to get _Wannabe_ out of my head for the past week?”

 

“Because you have a secret crush on Geri Halliwell?” Merlin guesses, still dazed.

 

Arthur snorts. “ _No_ , you imbecile. Because for the past five days, it’s been playing on a loop in the back of my head. Do you have any idea how _annoying_ that is?”

 

Merlin stares at him for a long moment, his heart thundering in his chest. Does that mean—is Arthur saying—? “About as annoying as having _Never Gonna Give You Up_ stuck in your head for a month, I’d imagine,” he says slowly. “But then, you’d know all about that, _wouldn’t you_ , _Arthur_.”

 

“That was my sister’s fault,” Arthur says, one side of his mouth tilting upwards into a sheepish grin, and oh, Merlin has missed that smile so much. “She thought it would be funny to try to rick-roll me every day, so I decided to play it on repeat until she couldn’t surprise me anymore.” He laughs at Merlin’s gobsmacked expression. “It was overkill, I know. But you’ll understand when you meet her. Besides, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

 

He looks so hopeful, and so happy, that Merlin can’t resist grinning at him in return, even though he still has no idea what the hell is going on.

 

“If you say so,” he says, reaching out to tangle Arthur’s fingers with his. “But I’m going to need you to explain to me exactly how.”

 

 

+

 

 

Merlin’s mother comes into the hallway then, wiping her hands on her apron, and Merlin steps a little closer to Arthur, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. He tries to think of some way of discreetly letting her know what’s going on—preferably leaving out the part with the desperate snogging on the doorstep—but Hunith takes one look at his and Arthur’s faces and apparently figures it out on her own.

 

“You must be Arthur, then,” she says, smiling and holding out a hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

 

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mrs Emrys,” Arthur says, ever the charmer. “I’m sorry to drop in on you unannounced, but—” He glances at Merlin. “Merlin and I had a few issues to sort out, and I didn’t want to wait until after the holidays to do it.”

 

“That’s quite all right.” Hunith winks at him. “You young lovers are always in a hurry, I know. But do come inside and sit down—you must be exhausted after travelling all this way, especially in this weather.”

 

To Merlin’s amusement, Arthur blushes and stammers a little as she pats his arm, ducking his head like an awkward schoolboy, and he has to be nudged hard in the ribs by Merlin before he remembers to follow her inside. It probably shouldn’t make him so happy to learn that even the unflappable Arthur Pendragon is apparently capable of being flustered, but Merlin can’t help it; he’s fairly sure he’s genetically wired to find everything Arthur does adorable.

 

“So, Arthur,” Hunith says, when they’re all seated at the kitchen table. She pushes a plate full of leftover mince pies towards him and gestures for him to help himself. “I assume you have a reason for rushing half way across the country without warning.”

 

“Uh, yeah.” Arthur rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure how much Merlin’s told you about what we…that is, about this whole…thing, but it’s kind of complicated.”

 

“She knows most of it,” Merlin interjects, taking pity on him. Fun as it is to watch Arthur flounder, he’d prefer to get to the point some time this century. “I’ve been hearing random lyrics in my head for years, ever since I first came to work for you. I told her about it as soon as I realised what it was.”

 

Arthur looks up, and when Hunith nods in confirmation he blows out his breath, seeming visibly relieved that he won't have to try and explain. That more than anything else that evening convinces Merlin that he is telling the truth, and that this isn’t just some kind of half-baked attempt to win him back. Their predicament, unusual as it is, has never been something that he’s found easy to put into words, even to himself; it's hardly something Arthur could make up.

 

“I thought I was going mad,” Arthur says, as though reading Merlin's thoughts. “I enjoy music and everything, don’t get me wrong, but the same lyrics every day, over and over? I thought it was some kind of messed up version of OCD.”

 

“So when did you work out that it was a soul bond?” Hunith asks, with a glance at her son. “Merlin knew from the beginning, more or less, but it sounds like he had the advantage.”

 

“I just figured it out a few months ago,” Arthur answers with a shrug. “Something changed, and I started hearing a man’s voice as well as the person singing the song. That was when I started to realise that it wasn’t just music that was stuck in my head but—” He waves an arm. “Something else. I always thought the voice sounded familiar, and when Merlin mentioned he'd been listening to _Wannabe_ this morning over the phone…”

 

“You came straight here,” Merlin finishes, nodding. “You missed me that much, huh?”

 

He's expecting Arthur to deny it, but Arthur just shrugs one shoulder, one side of his mouth pulling upward ruefully. “What can I say,” he replies drily, “I was really desperate to get that song out of my head.”

 

Merlin snorts, and Hunith shakes her head. “You boys just don’t appreciate the classics,” she tells them with mock despair, and Arthur hurriedly takes another mince pie from the tray, leaving Merlin to defend his musical preferences alone—the traitor.

 

“How does it work, anyway?” Hunith asks, after Merlin has dutifully assured her that her taste in music is impeccable and please, no, there’s no need to turn on the radio again to prove it. Arthur watches the two of them bicker with a perplexed, slightly hungry expression which has nothing to do with the number of mince pies he’s eaten, and Merlin has to suppress the sudden desire to wrap him up in a hug. “I mean, if Merlin went into the other room and started playing something right now, would you know what he was listening to straight away?”

 

“I don’t know.” Swallowing a bite of his mince pie, Arthur politely brushes the crumbs onto his plate before replying more fully. “Mostly it seems to be random snippets of song, like a chorus or some kind of refrain. I don’t think it necessarily happens instantaneously.”

 

“And it has to be something the other person has listened to more than once,” Merlin puts in. “Not just any song that comes on the radio.” He’d figured that out during the month that Arthur had unwittingly rick-rolled him, although how Arthur had managed to stand listening to that song for so many times in a row he is still unable to fathom. “I guess we could always try an experiment or two, now that we know what’s going on.”

 

“What I don’t understand is why it took so long to manifest,” Arthur says, frowning. “Most soul bonds become obvious as soon as the two people meet one another, don’t they? So why has it taken us so long to figure it out?”

 

“I have a theory about that,” Hunith says, leaning back in her chair. “I did some reading after Merlin told me about it; I didn’t turn up much, and what I did read is somewhat obscure, but apparently for some people the soul bond doesn’t come to full strength until they fall in love.”

 

There’s a short silence, during which Merlin and Arthur both glance at one another and then look away. Merlin wonders if Arthur, too, is remembering his earlier confession. Had he intended to say it, or had it just slipped out? And more importantly, did he really mean it?

 

“Doesn’t that usually happen immediately, though?” he asks, trying to ignore the sudden heat in his cheeks. “I mean, it did for you and Dad.”

 

“Yes, love, but everybody’s different. For most people, when they meet their soulmate, it’s love at first sight. For others, like you and Arthur, it seems that the bond matures more gradually, and only manifests properly once your feelings are fully developed. Does that make sense?”

 

“I guess so,” Merlin says slowly. He thinks back to what he’d asked her, that afternoon only a few short days ago when he’d spilled the beans about Arthur. “You’re saying that the reason we didn’t know straight away is because we didn’t like each other much at first?”

 

“More or less,” Hunith agrees, nodding. “Although I don’t think it matters that you disliked each other; it would have been the same if you had started out indifferent.”

 

“Huh,” Arthur says, sounding intrigued. “So that means, a few months ago…?” He raises his eyebrows at Merlin, who shrugs. He’s pretty sure that _something_ must have happened a few months ago to change things, but he’s equally sure that it had nothing to do with him. He’s been aware of how he’s felt about Arthur for years; it’s not like he had some sudden epiphany or anything.

 

Arthur makes an impatient gesture. “A few months ago was the first time you brought dinner up to my office,” he says. “That has to be when everything changed.”

 

“It was?” Merlin searches his memory; he had known that his late night visits to Arthur’s office had started around then, of course, but he couldn’t have said precisely when. “I don’t remember that.”

 

“It was a Friday, I think. We stayed late to go over the Alined case, and you insisted on ordering Chinese,” Arthur says, apparently able to recall the incident far better than Merlin can. “You asked what my favourites were so that you could try them, and I thought—”

 

He stops, and for the second time that evening his cheeks abruptly flush with colour.

 

“What?” Merlin asks, grinning. “What did you think?”

 

Arthur glances over at Hunith, and if possible his face goes even redder. “I, uh, may have thought that I wouldn’t be opposed to marrying you,” he mumbles, staring at his feet.

 

Merlin wants to laugh—he really does—but he appreciates Arthur’s confession a little too much to ruin the moment. He looks over at his mother, whose eyes are suspiciously bright, and she shakes her head knowingly.

 

“I told you the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” she says, and winks.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

Hunith keeps them chatting for a little while longer, clearly determined to find out everything she can about her son’s new soulmate, but eventually she makes her excuses and retreats up the stairs to bed, leaving Merlin and Arthur behind in the empty kitchen.

 

“Alone at last,” Arthur says with an exaggerated leer, and Merlin snorts.

 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather spend more time with my mum?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “The two of you seemed awfully cosy considering you just met a couple of hours ago. Should I be jealous?”

 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “She’s a lovely woman,” he says. “You’re very lucky to have her, you know.”

 

“I know,” Merlin remembers Arthur’s mother, dead before he ever got the chance to meet her, and feels a sudden overwhelming affection for Hunith, who is indeed a lovely woman. “I should probably tell her that more often than I do, though.”

 

“I think she knows.” Arthur reels him in by his belt and nuzzles against his neck, making Merlin shiver. “But if you like, I could remind you to do it from time to time. Maybe every day.”

 

“Okay,” Merlin says, slightly breathless. It is slowly starting to sink in that he gets to have this—not just for a night, but forever, or close to it. Soul bonds aren’t exactly a guarantee: they can’t protect you from unhappiness or keep you from an early grave, as what happened with his parents has made abundantly clear. But rumour has it that they _do_ grant you a better than average sex life, and he, for one, is looking forward to finding out just how true that is. “I’ll hold you to it.”

 

They make their way slowly up the stairs, pausing once on the landing to kiss until their mouths are swollen and slick and Arthur almost knocks one of the family portraits from the wall when Merlin shoves him up against it. Then they run the rest of the way to Merlin’s room, giggling like naughty teenagers, and make only a half-hearted effort to be quiet as they stagger through the halls.

 

Once inside, Merlin kicks the door closed and shoves Arthur up against it, fumbling at the hem of his top until he can find bare skin. It feels a bit odd to be doing this in his childhood bedroom—almost like he could turn around to find his younger self watching from the bed—but he pushes the thought aside with an effort, focusing instead on the way Arthur feels beneath his mouth and hands, the noise he makes when Merlin slips his fingers beneath his waistband.

 

“There’s just one problem,” Arthur says at length, panting a little as he struggles to unbutton Merlin’s shirt. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but,” he tugs the fabric off over Merlin’s shoulders and lets it fall to the floor, “there’s only one bed. And it’s a single.”

 

Merlin glances over his shoulder, sparing a moment to be embarrassed about the faded duvet cover before his attention snaps back to the man in front of him. “Well, yeah,” he says, unbuttoning Arthur’s trousers. “I mean, it was only ever just me in here, wasn’t it? Do you mean to tell me that you’ve always slept in a double?”

 

“Since I was twelve,” Arthur admits, and Merlin laughs.

 

“Then you, my friend, have a great deal to learn,” he says, sliding Arthur’s pants to the floor. “There’s a definite trick to having sex in a single bed.”

 

“Is there, indeed.” Naked, Arthur raises his eyebrows, and his expression is such a complicated mixture of superciliousness and uncertainty that Merlin is compelled to lean in and kiss him again.

 

“Fortunately for you,” he says, whispering the words into Arthur’s ear. “I’m a very good teacher.”

 

 

+

 

 

It’s not until much later, when they’re lying tangled and spent beneath the blankets, that Merlin remembers something he has been meaning to ask Arthur all evening. “Arthur,” he says, craning his neck to peer at him. “Earlier—I mean, that night, when we had dinner together—you said you didn’t believe in soulmates. But if you could hear the songs, if you knew there was someone out there…why did you pretend you didn’t think soulmates were real?”

 

“I wasn’t pretending.” Arthur shrugs. “I meant what I said. People act like finding your soulmate is like winning a magical lottery, like you’ll never have any more problems because they’ll just—take care of you, no matter what.” He frowns, looking thoughtful. “But I don’t think being my soulmate automatically means you’re perfect and our life together is going to be one giant wish fulfilment fantasy. It’s more like—something that makes things better, you know? A compensatory bonus to make up for all the shitty parts.”

 

“Oh.” Merlin lets that sink in for a while, listening to Arthur breathe. Then, “You don’t think I’m perfect?”

 

“I think you’re a lot of things,” Arthur says, capturing Merlin’s pout in a kiss. “But I don’t think I’d like you half so much if you weren’t also ridiculously clumsy and prone to making stupid assumptions without telling anyone about them.”

 

“Takes one to know one,” Merlin points out, then ruins the effect a moment later by snickering when Arthur glares him. “All right, so, if you weren’t overcome by dazzling wit and irresistible charm, and you weren’t out looking for your soulmate, why _did_ you decide to ask me out?”

 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Arthur says. He trails a finger up the length of Merlin’s arm, making his skin tingle at the touch. “Why did you agree to go out with me, if you knew that there was someone out there who was already made for you?”

 

Merlin stretches and rolls over, settling fully on top of Arthur's body now, and rests his chin on Arthur’s chest. “Because I liked you,” he says. “And I had no idea who my soulmate was, but I thought—I don’t know. I thought maybe somehow we’d hit it off and it would turn out that it was you, and we would both live happily ever after. Which, may I remind you, is exactly what happened.”

 

“I noticed,” Arthur says drily. “I guess that’s sort of what I was thinking, too. Only…” He pauses, his attention drifting for a moment to where he’s started fiddling with the ends of Merlin’s hair. “I didn’t know if you were my soulmate. I suspected, sometimes, that you might be, especially given the way I felt about you. But even if you weren’t, even if we weren’t destined to be together…I still wanted to have that connection.”

 

Merlin frowns. “I don’t understand.”

 

“My parents were soul-matched,” Arthur explains quietly, his fingers marching idly along Merlin’s nape. “Not many people know that, but they fell in love at first sight—to hear my father tell it, it was some kind of miracle.” He laughs a little, then sobers, meeting Merlin’s gaze. “But then Mum died, and it broke something inside my dad irreparably. I could see it, even though he tried to mask it from us growing up; it was like…like he was half a person. The lesser half, maybe, I don’t know. I don’t know what he was like before. But I never wanted my soulmate to be the only thing I had, you know? No one has ever said that you have to be in love with your soulmate, or that you can only love one person in your entire lifetime. So I thought…if I could find love _outside_ of a soul-bond, even if it wasn’t the same, then maybe having a soulmate wouldn’t have to be so terrifying. Does that make sense?”

 

“Yeah,” Merlin says softly. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He buries his face in Arthur’s shoulder, wondering what it says about them that they had both essentially found each other while looking for something else. Did that mean finding your soulmate was inevitable, or was it that the choices you made while looking were what made you perfect for each other after all?

 

“I still kind of wanted it to be you,” Arthur says, and Merlin looks up again. “I heard you humming around the office sometimes, and I thought it sounded like the voice inside my head, but I wasn’t sure. And then you told me you were unavailable, and I thought—I mean, of course I thought you must have been soul-matched, but I figured you must _know_ , you know? Because—”

 

“—you always know,” Merlin choruses along with him, nodding. Arthur’s mouth twitches into a grin.

 

“Right. So I assumed that meant that I was wrong. God, Merlin, you have no idea. The thought of seeing you with somebody else…” He shakes his head. “I was stupid to think it wouldn’t matter. It mattered a lot.”

 

“So does that mean—what does that mean, for us?” Merlin asks, watching him. “Because it seems to me like we’re definitely 100% soulmates, and this is definitely 100% romantic.” He tilts his head to look into Arthur’s face. “Right?”

 

“Right,” Arthur confirms, leaning in to kiss him again. “I’m not looking for an open relationship, if that’s what you’re asking. I just…don’t want to be one of those couples whose lives only revolve around each other. The reason my dad fell apart after my mother died was because he refused to invest emotionally in anything else, including me and my sister. And if we have kids…”

 

“If we have kids?”

 

“Well, I don’t know.” For the first time, Arthur sounds a little uncertain. “Do you _want_ kids?”

 

Merlin has to pause for a second and think about it. He’d been so focused on finding The One that he hadn’t really pictured what would happen after—he’d always kind of assumed that the future would take care of itself. The idea of actively planning his life with Arthur makes his stomach flutter. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “I think I do, eventually. But I also think…I want some time with you first. Just the two of us. What do you want?”

 

“I want that, too,” Arthur agrees, relaxing. “I want to build a life with you. A proper life, with friends and family and coworkers and neighbours, and yeah, eventually children. But not right away.”

 

“I want to meet your sister,” Merlin adds. “I owe her some form of retaliation for making you rick-roll me for an entire month.”

 

That makes Arthur laugh. “She’s going to love you,” he says. “She’ll adopt you within ten seconds, and by the end of the day you’ll have invented a dozen new ways to make my life difficult, I guarantee it.”

 

“Hmm, is that a promise?” Merlin asks, grinning. “Because it sounds like fun.”

 

Arthur pouts outrageously. “See? She’s corrupting you already.”

 

“Ass.” Merlin kisses _him_ this time, sucking Arthur’s lower lip into his mouth and savouring the small sounds he makes in response, the slow slide of Arthur’s tongue against his own.

 

“So we’re agreed, then,” Arthur says, afterwards. “We take things slow.”

 

“But not too slow,” Merlin adds. He meets Arthur’s gaze and half smiles, feeling anxiety well up inside his chest again before he shoves it back down. “If anything ever happens to me, I don’t want you to be alone.”

 

Arthur’s eyes soften, and he touches Merlin's cheek. “And if anything ever happens to me,” he says. “I don’t want you to stop caring.”

 

“That will never happen,” Merlin assures him, pressing even closer until there is no more space between them. His body fits perfectly against Arthur’s, as if they had been made for each other; which, after a fashion, they were. “For starters, I’m ever going to let any harm come to you.”

 

Arthur’s mouth quirks. “You’re going to protect me, are you?”

 

“With all my heart,” Merlin agrees solemnly. “You’re my other half, Arthur—that means I’m _never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you_ —”

 

If this is what having a soulmate feels like, Merlin decides, choking on his own laughter as Arthur attempts to smother him with a pillow, then he’ll take it—infuriating ear-worms and all.

 

[He can't wait to tell Gwen how right she was all along.](https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwiq7vGWls7hAhUTXisKHWTQDswQyCkwAHoECA0QBQ&url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ&usg=AOvVaw0aHtehaphMhOCAkCydRLZU)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks flying vegetables* I have nothing to say for myself, honestly, except...I hope you've enjoyed reading this fic as much as I have enjoyed writing it. It's been a total blast ♡
> 
> Thank you to everyone who stuck with me despite the slow updates, and to everyone who has commented or left kudos on this fic. You guys rock. [I made a playlist just for you :)](https://open.spotify.com/user/schweet_heart/playlist/31liiH0oIw54T1pq33fgLX?si=JjtAhdomR2-3o2SLT3mdIQ)


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